torn labels

Fragella goes outside often
to see if someone’s coming

th mailman walks backwards
to avoid news of th war

her dress is staind w/ memories
perfect kisses which never took place

th birds are all ded
and there is a build-up of nectar in the lane

Fragella sings as would th birds
to visions of punching-up her childhood

rosenthal shatters every Friday night
and that is th show
bad news
for never 

there is no place on earth for her
all bonelands and immortal moors
           and she is very
           bent with joy
           feels a fever
           come on

swirls and is tasted it on her skin
every once in awhile
cold, cold
but only when it hits the air
th love knife, that is.

# posted by hardyf : 12:21